


His Mother's Eyes

by DestielsDestiny



Series: He Got That From Them [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Background Relationships, Character Study, Family Feels, Gen, Hot Chocolate, M/M, Memories of Shara, Mother-Son Relationship, Parent-Child Relationship, Poe's relationship with the Skywalkers is complicated, Team as Family, The Twins as surrogate parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 13:28:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7317079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DestielsDestiny/pseuds/DestielsDestiny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poe's eyes are bright, warm, and soft. And utterly forgettable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Mother's Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing.

Poe Dameron has eyes the colour of dark Choco-Caf, heated to a gentle melt, warm and smooth and crunchy all at once, one of the most soothing things the galaxy over. They aren’t as snapping as the blue eyes of his father, or as striking as the green of his aunt, or as beautiful as the purple of the little girl across the field’s. 

People rarely mention Poe’s eyes when he’s growing up. They coo over his wild curls, compliment his impeccable manners, praise his incredible reflexes, but no one ever remarks much on his eyes. 

Some days, even Poe is hard pressed to remember what colour they are. 

He watches Finn attempt to draw him one afternoon during a lull between missions, perched on different wings of Black One outside by the blood red Fyre bushes, fading into a mellowed peach pink with the temperate force of a D’Qar Autumn. Finn isn’t exactly the most skilled artist Poe’s ever seen, but Poe thinks he does rather well considering the chances to practice he’s had, and tacks the picture over the Mess freezers for all and sundry to see, Finn blushing to the roots of his hair with newly discovered embarrassment, and maybe just a touch of hard won pride. 

Nobody quite has the heart to point out that he accidentally coloured Poe’s eyes black instead of brown. Poe doesn’t even notice. 

Poe doesn’t ever much think about where his eye colour came from, not until the day he sits in companionable silence beside the General late one night in her office, watching Luke Skywalker himself stir Choco-Caf on a portable hot plate. 

Poe’s just about to crack a joke about starting a Veteran’s Insomnia Club when Luke swirls around with rather more than a dash of the dramatic, a flair that Poe doesn’t remember from when he was a kid, not really, and that has little to do with the robe and rather more to do with the beard, and somehow that’s when Poe realizes he hasn’t seen Luke since before his mother died. 

Poe’s regarding the back of an overturned picture frame he knows shows a young Ben Solo huddled nervously beside a grinning Poe Dameron, both holding model ships for Life Day, taken back on Yavin when everything was still fresh and hopeful and the First Order wasn’t even a rumour on the Outer Rim, a pall of familiar morose ennui falling faster than ever over his mind, when its descent is abruptly halted by a Jedi swooping in to the rescue. 

That rescue comes in the form of a steaming mug of Caf being nudged carefully into Poe’s curled fists, startling bright blue eyes, bluer than any lightsaber, narrowing thoughtfully in on Poe’s shadowed eyes. 

“Leia, do you remember that time Shara taught us how to make Choco-Caf?” The question cuts through the quiet silence of early morning like a laser bolt, startling Leia enough to allow Luke to effortlessly sneak his rather small frame onto the bench between her and Poe. Poe’s still trying to catch up with the motion when a warm shoulder settles next to his side, because apparently Luke Skywalker actually is short enough to make even Poe feel tall, even sitting down, when he hears the General gather a shaky breath as if she is about to address a strategy council, ripping her gaze forcefully from where Poe knows without even looking that is was locked on that same picture frame. 

“You mean the time you managed to burn down half of Kes and Shara’s kitchen, and Han decided to try to help by throwing Hothian Ale on the blaze? I doubt anyone on Yavin 4 has forgotten that Luke.” The General’s voice is dry enough to strip paint off the walls, but there’s something creeping around the edges of that tone that Poe hasn’t heard in nearly fifteen years, something he thinks might one day be called warmth. 

Luke’s chuckling seems to fill the cramped edges of their little sanctuary of light and heat, even as a bare metal finger taps Poe’s mug rim insistently. “Let me know if it needs more Choco Commander.” 

Poe brings the cup towards his lips, because Leia might still be mad at her brother for following the Force across a galaxy and back, but somewhere in the last few years she found a fool proof way to promote him to the rank of senior General, with no one able to say a word to the contrary, least of all the man himself. 

It isn’t until the heat hits his tongue, the warm crumbliness melting deftly into his taste buds that Poe remembers what his favourite drink was as a kid. 

It tastes just the way his mother used to make it. 

And somehow, sitting pressed between the leader of the Resistance and the last Jedi in the galaxy twice over, Skywalkers bracketing him from shoulder to boot heel, drinking powdered Choco heated on a rather suspect hot plate that Poe is pretty sure Luke pilfered from the Mess during that fire drill last week, Poe begins to feel the edges of something very strange, something familiar and yet not, like a half remembered memory inside a forgotten dream. 

It takes until Leia is beginning to nod off against the table, Luke playing with the handle of his empty mug, Poe on his last sips of heavenly warmth, that he finally realizes that feeling might just be not unlike something he hasn’t felt since he was a little boy drinking Choco beside his mother in their warm kitchen. 

Something that he forgot the day he stopped being just a little boy who shared his mother’s eyes, and became a little boy who had his mother’s eyes. 

Something not quite unlike home.


End file.
